The Chick Is In The Mail

By contrast, I could see occasional daylight between Waldo and his saddle. The end of his lance described random motion within a vertical circle twenty- five feet ahead of him. The radius of that circle increased as the horse moved from a canter to a full gallop.

I had never before realized how fast horses can run. The horses that I bet on seldom seem to manage more than an arthritic crawl toward the winning post. But Waldo and the Iron Maiden were approaching each other at an impossible speed.

They were forty meters apart-twenty-a crash of metal-they were somehow past each other, and the spectators were screaming in horror. The tip of the Iron Maiden's lance had struck Waldo squarely in the middle of his helmet, ripping it loose from the rest of his armor. As the helmet rolled away across the dirt, the headless knight galloped on.

Rode toward me. Rode straight at me. As I threw myself out of the way, convinced that the decapitated rider was about to lance Helga as she lay sleeping inside her tent, the horse at the last moment veered off. The lance leading the way, horse and burden missed the competitors' enclosure and plunged into the next one.

I couldn't see behind the awning separating the enclosures, but the noise that reached me was frightful.

* * *

It took a couple of weeks to arrange the hearing, long enough for Waldo to be out of the hospital. He claimed that he ought to come to court and present part of our arguments, but I dissuaded him on the grounds that his broken and wired jaw denied him his customary verbal clarity.

The rest of his head was intact. Unable to maintain a high enough position in Helga's suit when on horseback, he had slipped down to peer out through a slit in the neck piece. He had been untouched by the lance that removed the helmet, but the force of his final collision did considerable damage.

I expected to be alone in the court, except for the judge and the team of seven attorneys representing Joustin' Time. When I heard another group of people slip into the back as the proceedings began, I was too busy listening to the Joustin' Time claims to take notice of new arrivals.

Their list of purported offenses and damages was impressive. The lead attorney, Duncan Whiteside, a man of earnest demeanor and awkward body language, took four and a half hours to deliver it, but I could boil everything down to this:

* Messrs. Burmeister and Carver had illegally taken

part in a tournament organized by Joustin' Time.

* Messrs. Burmeister and Carver had by their

actions forced cancellation of the jousting

contest.

* Messrs. Burmeister and Carver, by killing the

tournament dragon, had forced the cancellation

of the entire second half of the program.

Both compensatory and punitive damages were sought.

When Duncan Whiteside finally dribbled to a halt, Judge Solomon looked at me and said, 'You may now respond to these charges.'

'Thank you, Your Honor. I will be brief.'

I had seen the judge's eyes rolling during the previous presentation. Hubert Solomon was a man of famously few words, and he admired the same trait in others. I figured I had five good minutes and I did not intend to go a second over.

'Your Honor,' I said, 'I would draw your attention to Exhibit Seven, the contract between Helga Svensen and Joustin' Time Enterprises.'

'I have it.'

'Article Nineteen, paragraph four, clause five. Let me read it aloud, since the print is awfully small. `The terms and conditions of this contract will apply in toto to any designated representative of the contractor.' Your honor, Burmeister and Carver are designated representatives of Helga Svensen. My colleague, Waldo Burmeister, represented Helga Svensen in the jousting tournament. I would simply make the comment that were an attorney not deemed to be a designated representative of a client, the entire legal profession would be irreparably damaged.'

'Your point is noted. Continue.'

'Burmeister and Carver, jointly and severally, had no part in the decision to cancel the jousting tournament. Therefore we cannot be regarded as responsible for such a decision.'

'Noted. Continue.'

'Now, as to the dragon-'

'Objection!' Naturally, from Duncan Whiteside.

Judge Solomon had an odd frown on his face as he stared at me. 'Mr. Carver, this is a serious matter. I hope that you are not proposing to argue that Mr. Burmeister did not kill the dragon.'

'Not at all. Your Honor, it is a central point of our argument that Mr. Burmeister's lance undeniably killed the dragon. Now let me draw your attention to Article Seventeen of the contract. Again I quote: `Any bona fide representative of a participating team, such representative or representatives to be termed hereinafter collectively the contestant, may enter into single combat with the dragon. Should the contestant slay or otherwise defeat the dragon, the contestant will win the Grand Prize.' Since Mr. Burmeister was a representative of Helga Svensen, and killed the dragon, the Grand Prize should be paid-'

'Objection!' The lead attorney for Joustin' Time was on his feet. 'Your Honor, the dragon was asleep when Mr. Burmeister killed it.'

'Mr. Whiteside, you must allow Mr. Carver to finish his sentences, otherwise-'

'Your Honor, the dragon-slaying part of the tournament had not even begun.'

'Mr. Whiteside, you must also allow me to finish my sentences.' Hubert Solomon was enjoying the tussle. Otherwise he would have bitten off Duncan Whiteside's head. He nodded to me. 'Mr. Carver, proceed.'

'Thank you. Your Honor, I have little to add. Nothing in the contract mentions the time or circumstances in which the dragon must be slain in order for a contestant to win the Grand Prize. Mr. Burmeister slew the dragon, and therefore won the Grand Prize. The amount owed to us is given in Exhibit Two.'

'Very good.' The judge abruptly stood up. 'I now call a ten-minute recess.'

He swept out. I knew where he was going-to private chambers for a good laugh.

I felt an urge to do the same. I headed for the exit, carefully avoiding the dismayed eyes of the Joustin' Time team. They were not complete fools. They knew they had ten minutes to agree among themselves on the terms of a mediated settlement.

Near the door I came to the group of people who had arrived late. It offered the impression of a group, but actually it was just Helga Svensen and Flora McTavish.

Together! Clad today in light, springtime armor, they sat side by side smiling at the world.

'Mr. Carver.' Helga reached out and enveloped my hand in hers. 'You were brilliant, totally brilliant.'

'You were.' Flora beamed at me. 'Helga told me you'd do it, but I didn't see how. You're a genius!'

'Not really.' I coughed modestly. 'It's far from over, you know. And all I did was read the fine print.'

'But how you read it!' Flora's eyes were shining. 'Would you be willing to read my fine print?'

While I was pondering the possible implications of that question, Helga stood up. 'I'm going to leave the two of you to talk. Is it too soon for me to go and see Waldo?'

I thought of my partner, splinted and swathed from head to toe. In his present condition I didn't think that even Waldo could get into too much trouble. 'You can go and see him,' I said, 'but you won't see much of him.'

'I'll tell him things are going well.' She thundered out, shaking the floor with her girlish tread.

I turned to Flora. 'I don't understand. She brought you here. She's talking to you.'

'Of course she is. Helga and I are best friends.'

'But you drugged her and tried to kill her!'

'Oh, nonsense. Drugged her a wee bit, aye, but that's all in the game. I knew it wasn't Helga, the minute I saw that lance wobbling about. I thought she was snoring in her tent, and somebody had tied a stuffed dummy up there on her horse.'

Stuffed, perhaps, and far too frequently for someone on a perennial diet; but Waldo was no dummy.

'There's a big tournament coming up on Ceres,' Flora went on. 'I'd like you to be there with me.'

I could not talk any longer. A buzz of activity at the front of the room announced that Judge Solomon had entered and Duncan Whiteside was already stepping toward him, an anxious expression on his face.

I ran for the steps, calling over my shoulder, 'Go there, and do what?'

I think that Flora, behind me, said, 'Read my fine print.' But it sounded an awful lot like, 'Be my fine prince.'

Patterns in the Chain by Steven Piziks

Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two.

A shadow drifted across the mouth of Mother Berchte's cave. She waited and rocked, careful to keep her tail away from the stone rockers of her chair. White sparks snapped from her needles.